


Muleheaded

by ChelleyPam



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M, soul mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-13 23:59:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7991143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChelleyPam/pseuds/ChelleyPam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soul Mates are supposed to be the perfect pairing of hearts without question, right?  Well, whoever thought that up never met a woman this stubborn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _This is the other way I thought a soul mate story between Charlie and Bass might go if Bass' somewhat free wheeling ways ran head first into Charlie's more hard headed qualities._

The only good thing about the name of her soul mate was where it was located. Very few people had a reason to see the bottom of your foot.

 _Right where I can grind him into the dirt whenever I'm angry._

It was especially fortunate when you managed to get yourself conscripted. She'd been certain she was about to be discovered, but there was no mandatory foot inspection. Odd, considering how much marching was involved in the daily life of a Militia soldier. 

“Hey, Foster. Looks like it might get cold tonight.” A wandering hand traced over her hip. “How about we put our tents together? Keep each other warm?”

They never learned.

Charlie brought her heel down on the instep of the other soldier. He yelped and stepped back in reflex, giving her enough room to turn and send a balled fist into his solar plexus. There were several moves like this and she and the other female recruits had been drilled in over and over again. Their instructors had said they wanted them to be able to do them in their sleep, just in case someone got the bright idea to come at them after lights out. 

“What's the ruckus?!” She hadn't realized the two mounts of the unit were that close, but as Buckley got back into an upright position and was about to make a move towards her, a beautiful chestnut gelding stepped between them. Though she didn't see it, she heard the other soldier give a muffled sound as what was likely a polished boot clipped him in the face. “Oh, sorry about that, Sergeant. Didn't see you there. Everything all right, Foster?”

“Yes, Sir. Everything is fine.” She suspected Captain Baker had kicked the other soldier on purpose. Jeremy Baker was one of the better officers you could draw, especially if you were female. He didn't truck with guys trying to force a woman. Six months prior they had caught a soldier raping a girl he'd found gathering kindling in the woods. Baker had dragged him back to his garrison and ordered the commander to call a formation. There he had the soldier given fifty lashes while everyone watched. There'd been barely any skin left on the man's back afterwards. Everyone knew what the punishment was for. 

Now he swung down from his horse, handing her the reigns. “Take care of him, would you? You're the only one he'll obey, probably because you're more muleheaded than he is.” As he got closer, the officer pitched his voice lower. “If someone needs to fall on his face a few times, I can get real lost in a good book for a while.”

She really could have ended up with much worse for a commanding officer. “Probably shouldn't tempt me, Sir.”

“If you're sure. All the same, make sure to pitch your tent next to mine. I'll sleep better, and I'm so much easier to get along with when I get plenty of sleep.”

“Yes, Sir.”

~***~

“Why so glum, soldier?” Baker nudged Charlie's shoulder playfully with one of his boots from his perch on the gelding. “We're home again.”

“When was the last time you had to sleep in the barracks, Sir?”

He grinned. “Never. My job came with a house.”

“Good for you.”

He nudged her again, no malice in it. “Easily remedied. I could recommend you for the academy. We give homes to officers who renew their commission after the first round. It'd only take you four years. Less if you can test out of some of your basic courses.”

“Uhm... let's go with 'no' on that one.”

“Aww, come on! Better pay. Better food. Access to state dinners when you're in the city. Way more pros than cons. Company...Halt!” 

The two lines of soldiers came to a stop before the barracks and Baker swung down from his horse. “You boys go ahead and get settled in.” He handed the reigns to Charlie. The women's barracks were further down the way and his horse wouldn't cooperate for anyone other than him or her anyway. “In all seriousness, Foster, you're too damn smart to waste among the enlisted, and an officer's rank will give you even more protection. Not all commanding officers pay as close attention to what's going on as I do, and it's not always a given that you'll be assigned to me. But you make officer, and the bulk of the Militia has to mind their P's and Q's around you.”

“I'm a conscript, Sir. I never planned to hang in for the long haul.”

“I know, but what else have you got? What, you gonna go back to whatever small town you grew up in and marry some dirt farmer who may be half as smart as you? Pop out a kid every year until it kills you? You'd be wasted on that life and you know it.” He nudged her shoulder. “Come on. At least take the entrance exam and see if you'd qualify. You can walk over with me now and get it over and done with, then take the next four days to unwind.”

“I really don't think I'd fit in at the Academy.”

“You'd fucking stand out and you know it. Come on, it's just an exam. One little test. What's the harm?” 

He did have a point. It was likely the next time she got assigned out she might pull an officer who didn't care what his boys did or might even use his rank to force her into his bedroll for his own amusement. Baker looked after his female soldiers like they were his kid sisters, only armed and dangerous. Even the base rank of lieutenant would grant her a higher amount of security.

Jeremy could sense that she was waffling. “Come on. You owe me for having your back the past six months, anyway.”

She rolled her eyes. “That's low.”

“Take the entrance exam and we'll call it even.” She rolled her eyes again, letting out a sigh and he knew he'd won. “Great! Get Bubbs settled in and we'll head over together. That's my girl.” He patted her shoulder as she started leading the horse towards the stable.

A short time later they were walking down the streets. Jeremy had sent stable hands to carry their gear too the respective locations, something she only got to take advantage of because she was with him at the time. 

“Oh, we need to stop here, first.” Baker was indicating Independence Hall, the one building she usually tried to avoid at all costs. “I need to hand in my field reports to the generals.”

“I can wait here, Sir.”

“Oh, don't be silly. Matheson doesn't really bite. That's just some dumb rumor that got started after Baltimore. You'll be fine.” He took her by the elbow before she could protest and steered her into the massive building. “Now this is one place I'm glad I don't live.” His voice was pitched low to avoid carrying. “It'd be like living in a freaking museum.”

“Keep it up and I'll promote you so you have to move in.” Both of them jumped and turned to see the tall, imposing form of Miles Matheson standing behind them. “After all, why should I have to suffer alone?”

“General Matheson, I was just on my way to see you.”

“You couldn't clean up first?”

“Last time I did you chewed me out for the delay.”

Miles arched a single brow at him, slid his eyes over to take in Charlie, then looked back at Baker. “Who's your friend?”

“This is Corporal Charlotte Foster. I'm taking her over to the Academy to how she scores on the entrance exam. I'm betting she'll blow the Neville kid's score out of the water.”

Charlie watched surprise cross her father's face and told herself to not blow her cover. “Really? No need to go all to the other side of the city. This way.” He walked with them a few yards down to a pair of double doors that opened up to what was apparently his office. “Stuart!” 

A young lieutenant in a perfect uniform rose from the smaller desk. The general's personal secretary, she guessed. “Yes, Sir?”

“Captain Baker wants the corporal here to take the academy's entrance exam. See to that, will you?” Miles gestured for her to go into the office. “Baker will be with me in the President's office when you're done.”

“Yes, Sir.” 

Miles shut the door behind her and Charlie faced the rather dour looking young officer. He looked about her age, and less than impressed with her.

“You can take a seat over there.” He pointed to a small table with four chairs that looked about the right size for a small dinner or a game of poker between buddies. Charlie took a seat while he got out a copy of the examination papers from a polished file cabinet. There looked to be forty pages with a blank cover page as he set it before her with two sharpened pencils. “You'll have ninety minutes to finish the exam from the moment I tell you start. You can use the back of the pages for scratch paper for the math questions.” He looked at the grandfather clock in the corner. “You may begin...now.”

Charlie unfastened the binder clip holding the exam sheets together and turned to the first page. The exam started with reading and comprehension. Easy enough.

~***~

“No. No.” Jeremy waved Miles' hand away. “No more. I need to be able to at least walk home.”

“Isn't that what you brought the girl for?”

“It's not like that! You know it's not! She got assigned to me and I've just been keeping an eye on her.”

Bass looked between them. “What girl?”

“Oh, Baker adopted another kitten. We sat her down to take the academy exam in my office.”

“She cute?”

“Fucking adorable!” Jeremy poured himself another glass of whiskey even though he'd just declined. “She has these big blue eyes and this smile that just...lights up the whole place. And smart! Way, _way_ too smart to be wasted on the enlisted ranks. She'll pass that exam. Just wait and see.” He looked at the clock. “She should be done by now. We told her we'd be in here, right?”

Miles frowned, prodding his memory. “Pretty sure I did.” He checked the clock as well. It had been almost two and one half hours, more than enough time for her to have taken the exam. “Maybe she headed to the barracks instead? She was just as filthy as you are. You're starting to stink, by the way.”

“Fuck you, Sir.” Baker said it with a smile on his face. When it was just the three of them together, they were less than strict. He was about to further detail what Miles could do with his private parts when there was a sharp knock at the door.

Bass bit off a snort. “Enter!”

Miles' secretary came in with a sheaf of papers. Baker spied Charlie in the antechamber past his shoulder. “Hey! Foster! Get in here!” She hurried inside the office, carefully avoiding making eye contact with anyone. Especially not with President Monroe. “Have you been standing out there all this time?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Miles took the exam paper from his secretary and dismissed him. The lieutenant had a copy of the test key so things could be done efficiently. He blinked as he looked at the results. “Perfect score.”

That got the attention of Bass and Jeremy both. Monroe walked over to take the papers in hand. “Even the trig question? No one gets the trig question.”

Jeremy had developed a big, goofy grin. “You've been holding back on me, Foster. Who taught you higher math?”

She didn't see the harm in the truth, not at this point. Besides, if she concentrated on Baker she could continue to ignore Monroe's eyes on her. “We had what passed for a school. It was run by this guy who worked for some computer thing before the Blackout. He was smart, really stressed things like math and physics.”

“That sounds like someone we could use here.” Monroe's voice was comforting and deep. “Maybe send someone out to talk to him. Offer him an academic position.”

“He's not there any more.” She shrugged. “This inspection run we just got back from, we went to the village where I grew up. He was gone.”

“Her whole family was.” Baker gave her a sympathetic look, the same one he gave her when she'd learned her family had pulled up stakes and left after she had run away from home. She'd only just managed to keep him from finding out her real last name. Thankfully the people at Sylvania Estates only referred to her as 'Charlie'. They didn't even mention her brother, just her 'folks'. 

She managed another shrug. “Mom and me weren't that close. Always butting heads. She said I was too much like my father.”

“Are you?”

 _Funny thing, General Matheson, I probably am._ “I don't know. I never had the chance to really know him.”

“That's a shame. Well, at least you'll get to know yourself. With a score like this, I'll be keeping an eye on you. Good find, Baker.”

“Thank you, General.” Jeremy got to his feet, somewhat wobbly thanks to the whiskey. “Now, do you think we can head out. I, for one, would like to find a hot bath. Pretty sure Foster here would like to escape the big, scary officers as well.”

“Get lost. Both of you.”

~***~

Baker had wrangled a four day liberty for most of the unit, but now that she was officially an Academy Cadet, she was on her own until the next round of classes, giving her a ten day break to move her few meager belongings from the female barracks to the female dorms. There was room for total of twenty female cadets, but she was the only one starting this quarter and thus got her own room. Since she got there late in the evening, she had the baths to herself.

Midnight found her sitting on her new bed, about the same as the bunks in the barracks, braiding her hair. She needed to be extra careful. She needed to avoid being in the same room with either her father or her so-called 'soul mate'.

Tears threatened to sting her eyes and she wiped them away angrily. 'Soul mate'. What a fucking joke.

She used to believe the fairy tails. The romantic stories about soul mates being the perfect love, unsullied and true. She'd argued with her mother, Ben and Maggie over and over, wanting to know why they weren't going to Philadelphia. Why weren't they making preparations for her to meet up with Sebastian Monroe? She had been almost seventeen and the distance between Wisconsin and Philly was over one thousand miles. The trip would take at least six weeks if they were fortunate, and someone of his rank and standing was probably expected to have some drawn out, over-the-top affair of a wedding. That would take planning, though she'd be happy to skip it if it meant she could avoid large crowds and dancing.

Her seventeenth birthday came and went and still no indications that her family was going to help. If anything, her mother seemed determined to ignore that she had a soul mark at all. Ben didn't want to talk about it, which she understood given that she had already learned about Miles and her true parentage thanks to having overheard one of the nastier arguments between him and Rachel. Maggie seemed more intent on trying to find a holistic way to help her with the depression and mood swings that came with being separated from her intended partner rather than do anything to bring her into the orbit of the man who ruled the Monroe Republic. 

So, one day, Charlie had packed what she needed to survive and ran away. She braved the journey from her little village and made it all the way to Philadelphia on her own. She'd gotten past the bridge guards by saying she was looking for work, not sure who she could trust with the truth before she actually found her father and Monroe. After a while she'd learned that both of them frequented the same pub after hours. 

Filled to the brim with eagerness and the belief that everything would be perfect the moment they saw one another, she'd bartered what few ounces of gold she had to her name for a hotel room with a bath and a pretty dress with simple flat shoes that matched it far better than her boots. Clean and dressed, she'd made her way to the pub.

They'd been seated at a table with Baker, all laughing and relaxed. She'd picked them out easily, there were enough sketches of Matheson and Monroe that she'd known their faces for a while. They hadn't spotted her thanks to the crowd and she was trying to find a way through.

She'd only made it half way across the room when she saw her. The red head wearing something that barely deserved to be called a dress. The woman had helped herself to Monroe's lap and practically shoved her tongue down his throat. 

And her soul mate did absolutely nothing to stop her.

In fact, the son of a bitch reciprocated! Kissed her back and let a hand wander over her hip as though he wasn't already spoken for! Her so-called father wasn't any help, either. Miles Matheson had behaved as though it was just another night on the town. 

Bastards. Both of them.

She'd felt complete and utter humiliation, but thankfully no one other than herself had been aware of the fact. Heart shattered, she'd turned around and pushed her way back out of the pub to return to her modest hotel room and cried herself to sleep.

The next day she'd left Philadelphia, promising herself that she was going to forget all about Sebastian Two-Faced Monroe and return home. Two weeks out from the city her luck had run out when her path had crossed that of a conscription team. Sure she could have gotten out of it by telling them who she was, but her pride refused to let her. She'd rather serve in the Militia under a false name than go crawling back to her so-called soul mate.

Now here she was in the female dorms for the Militia Academy, scheduled to see the quartermaster first thing in the morning to trade in her enlisted uniforms for those of a cadet and to start sitting for various tests to see if she could skip the basic courses. The dean said that he thought she likely could given her perfect score on the entrance exam. 

So, now all she had to do was keep under the radar for the duration of her education until she got her lieutenant's bar and then not draw the higher ups' attention unduly until she could either leave the Militia for good without deserting or score an assignment somewhere a comfortable distance away from Philadelphia.

_Or you could just walk back over to Independence Hall, tell Monroe who you are and then punch him right in his perfect nose. Maybe get a few good kicks to the balls while you're at it and demand he explain himself. Maybe you could work it out._

Right. Right. 

Not in this century.


	2. Chapter 2

_Eighteen months later_

It wasn't a house, but it wasn't the old barracks, either. The unmarried officers' quarters were more like nicer apartments. They all had their own space with a bedroom, a sitting area and a bathroom. A combination of boilers, cisterns and gravity made sure there was running water. There was a kitchen on the first floor that served breakfast, lunch and dinner for the residents at no cost to them. There was no setup for stipends if you chose to live in your own place or if you married, so it was just more sensible to take advantage of what was provided as part of the job.

And it didn't matter how long he leaned back against the hallway with his hands in his pockets smirking she was not telling Baker he'd been right.

“Captain.”

“Lieutenant.” He grinned before jerking his head to one side. “Come on. The brass is back and they're treating your class to drinks at the bar since they weren't here for the ceremony.”

She groaned. “Do I gotta?”

“Quit bitching. Let's go.” He waited for her to lock the door to her new quarters and walked with her out of the building and down the main street. “Sorry I couldn't be there for the ceremony. I heard you were second in the class.”

“Yeah. Miller beat me out in history. I think he memorized Sun Tzu. I don't mind. He's a cool guy, not like some of those meat heads.”

“I've heard that about him, too. Good thing, too. Monroe needs a new aide.”

That made her frown. “What happened to Lieutenant Crane?”

Jeremy looked around to make sure no one could overhear. “I shouldn't be telling you this, so don't repeat it. Assassination attempt. Rebel. Crane took the bullet but it was a close one.”

Charlie recognized the thrill of anxiety that went thru her, but tamped it down and refused to let herself inquire as to whether or not Monroe was all right. She'd know if he wasn't. The whole Militia would know by now if he wasn't. “Hate to hear that. This is going to crush his parents. They're so proud of him.” The Cranes operated a bakery in the city and had the best apple fritters. She would treat herself to one each Sunday morning.

“He'll be given full honors, though I'm sure they'd rather have their son back.” They reached the bar and Jeremy opened the door out of reflex instead of letting the lower ranking soldier do it. “Now Miller will be Monroe's walking day planner.”

“Better him than me. That job would be a nightmare.”

“No shit. They threatened me with it one time. I said I'd defect to Georgia.”

“Why is it when they threaten you it's with either a desk job or a promotion? You don't want to be a major one day?”

“Fuck no! Too much politics involved with anything over Captain. I'm happy where I am.”

The crowd of young men was easy to spot, pretty girls from the local brothel interspersed amongst them. These were new officers and today was pay day, so they had plenty of money to spend. Especially since General Matheson called out for the bar to put everything on the tab for Independence Hall.

“Baker! About time!” Miles waved them over to join him at his table. Charlie schooled her features into placid neutrality before getting closer to her father. “Foster! I can't believe you let that Miller kid beat you.”

“Turns out he was the bigger history nerd, Sir.”

“Skip the 'Sir'. I'm off duty.” He took a platter of glasses and set one in front of her and another in front of Jeremy before pouring whiskey for everyone. “And he didn't beat you by much. Technically you both have perfect grad point averages, he just had more extra credit. You both make me feel like a fucking slacker. Now I have to put up with this moron,” he pointed to Baker, “gloating about how right he was about you.”

“Sorry if I've caused any trouble.”

“Think nothing of it. I'd rather have a qualified officer. Besides, he'll eventually do something I can rag him about.” Miles caught sight of something behind her and motioned someone their way. Charlie turned slightly to see two men, one older and one closer to her age, make their way to the table. “Foster, this is Captain Tom Neville and his son, Lieutenant Jason Neville. Jason held the highest score on the entry exam until Baker brought you home.”

Captain Neville's look her way was cool appraisal. The Lieutenant's was a mix of professional and that of a young man seeing a pretty girl. She nodded in greeting to both of them as they joined the table.

“I've heard good things about you, Lieutenant. Have you been given your new orders, yet?”

“No, Sir. I'm still waiting.”

Miles poured another round of drinks. “That's because I haven't written up her orders, yet. Congratulations, Foster. You're my new secretary.”

Charlie nearly choked on her whiskey. Baker gave her a few unnecessary pats between her shoulder blades. “What happened to Stu?”

“I gave him to Bass. I can take the time to break in someone new. He has to be a bit more organized than that.”

Finally able to speak again, Charlie took a breath. “I thought Miller was up for that job.”

“Nah. I'm giving Miller to Tom here. Besides, I've read the progress reports for both of you. Miller is more military in mindset, but you show more promise diplomatically.”

Jeremy leaned over. “In other words, you're new job is to make him look good.”

“Exactly.” Miles showed no remorse for the idea. Meanwhile, Charlie's inner self was screaming. Being his secretary would mean she would be around him almost constantly when he was in the city, which was practically always unless there was a conflict that required his personal attention. She would be in charge of tracking his appointments, making sure his correspondence was taken care of and any number of other tasks. “So, I will expect you to present at Independence Hall at seven, sharp, the day after tomorrow. We usually start working over breakfast and go one until... well, we're done.”

Baker grinned. “So there will be times when you won't get to sleep for two or three days. Don't worry, though. I'm sure the benefits way outstrip the costs.”

“You can still have the job if you want, Baker.”

“No, thank you, General. I'm happy where I am.”

“Then shut the fuck up.”

~***~

She considered desertion. She spent most of her day off considering it. In the end, however, she chalked that up as just asking for trouble. If she ran off after being offered what many would consider a plum assignment, it would only draw more attention to herself. 

By remaining in the city, however, she could keep a closer eye on her father and President Monroe. Sure, just seeing the beautifully sculpted face of her 'soul mate' made her want to punch him, but he wasn't going to be looking for her right under his nose. 

So, going by that argument, being her father's secretary was the best hiding place she could possibly dream up!

Now, if only she could stop her stomach from churning. Throwing up all over her crisply pressed uniform would not make for a stellar first day on the job.

She got to Independence Hall a quarter before seven in the morning. The household staff was already bustling about and the aroma of bacon and sausage wafted down the hallway as someone pushed a covered cart towards Monroe's office. She saw Lieutenant Stuart as he opened the double doors from the inside to allow the staff to set out breakfast. The other young officer caught sight of her and nodded. 

“Good, you're early. That's a great way to start out.” He came down the hall to meet her halfway, his boots clicking on the wood floor. “Here are copies of everything that came in after the generals retired last evening. Mostly status reports on training and troop readiness. The post usually doesn't arrive until ten thirty.”

Charlie accepted the one inch stack of paper with a nod. “Thanks. I wasn't really expecting this particular assignment. I'm not real sure what's expected of me.”

“With Matheson I mostly penned polite refusals of invitations. They both get invited to just about everything, but neither of them have the time to waste on endless parties. I put together a quick guide of how to judge the importance of various events when it comes to him. I left it on your desk in his office. We'll work together on their calendars, throwing Matheson to the wolves when one of them has to be there and Monroe is already scheduled for something else or for state events where they absolutely both have to be there, that sort of thing. You'll also have to coordinate with Matheson's household staff, but his housekeeper is a no nonesense sort of woman so you'll have no troubles there. Your biggest challenge will be his temper.”

She frowned. “I've heard he has one.”

“He does.” Stuart's eyes caught sight of something, drawing his attention upwards to where a beautiful, dusky skinned woman in a state of dishabille was coming down the steps. “Unfortunately, it's going too be close to the surface for the next few days.”

“Who's that?”

Stuart sighed. “The flavor-of-the-month.” He looked around for any eavesdroppers before taking her by the elbow and pulling her into Miles' office. “I might as well tell you, because it's going to come up eventually. You know about soul mates, right?”

Loaded question, that. “Yeah. What everyone else knows. Some people are born with another person's name on their skin, like a tattoo. It's supposed to be their one true love or something.” There. Good. Nice and casual.

“Well, President Monroe has one. On his right bicep. Only his happens to be General Matheson's daughter. I don't know everything, but I know she was with her mother when the power died. They know she's still alive, because the mark is still there, but they haven't been able to find her. When they do, she'll be the First Lady for the entire Republic.”

“And the girl?

An expression of disapproval flashed briefly over Stuart's features, but he schooled them back into professional passivity. “A man has needs, soul mate mark or not. The woman has been trying to catch his eye for a while now, and it looks like she finally managed it. She won't be around long. Eventually they all get too clingy, and once they do he cuts them loose. However, when he does, Matheson starts in again with pressure for him to stop with the women in deference to his daughter. Monroe manages a week or two, then eventually finds someone to keep him entertained. Whenever the President gets a new girl, General Matheson gets cranky. It usually lasts a few days. Just...roll with it.”

So her father wasn't as copacetic about the floozies as she had originally thought. Well, that didn't make it all right.

“You okay? You look angry.”

She blinked, not having realized that she now had a strangle hold on her sheaf of papers until he brought it to her attention. “I'm fine. I guess... well... seems a bit unfair to the girl. The one Monroe is attached to, I mean.”

“Yeah, it does. You'll see her name cross your desk. There's always someone looking for her and the rest of the General's family. Her name is Charlotte, same as yours, only with a Matheson on the end. The others are Rachel, her mother, Ben, her uncle and step-father and a younger brother named Daniel, though from what Matheson has said, he had health problems and may not still be around. I wrote up an entire separate entry on them for you. They are a high priority item, so any time you get post or a report that a lead on them has been found, you'll need to bring it to the generals' attention. Both of them.”

 

Charlie tamped down on her rising nervousness. “Got it.” Monroe's whore reached the front door, hips swaying in an necessarily exaggerated manner, about the same time that it opened to let her father in. She saw his face as he blinked at the creature in surprise. That surprise was quickly replaced with clear displeasure. 

“Just as I said; cranky. Don't take anything he bites your way personal. It's not you he's mad at.”

“Don't poke the bear. I got you.” 

Breakfast was had at a table set up in Monroe's office that also served as a map table when they were planning. The kitchen staff was efficient in setting up the buffet but Charlie was more concerned about the sight of her father going to Monroe's wet bar instead and pouring himself a stiff drink. She looked at Stuart, her brow furrowed. He shook his head in a silent indication that she shouldn't pick that particular battle.

Miles took a swig and grimaced at the burn before speaking. “Foster, good to see you made it. Stu getting you settled in?”

“Yes, General.”

He waved a hand as he claimed a chair. “First rule, as long as we're not hosting some officer or leader from another republic, you don't have to keep using 'General' or 'Sir' every other word. Makes conversations go quicker. Grab a plate and tuck in. What's in the morning reports?”

Stuart helped to walk her through the reports, assuring her that deciphering some of the messier handwriting from commanders would come with quickly with a little practice. The overnight reports were mainly covering head counts and inventory. Inventory reports were usually attached to a confirmation to Kipling was taking care of any short falls or his recommendations of what they needed to secure. 

“You'll know if there's anything dire that comes in, because someone will drag you out of bed in the middle of the night to run it by you and see if you need to drag me out of bed. Stuart will get you up to speed on which officers can handle what things on their own, so most of the time you'll be able to delegate things out to someone else and just give me an update in the morning.”

Stuart indicated she needed to open the slim leather folder under the stack of reports. She did so to find a neatly penned schedule for the week. “According to this, you are supposed to have lunch with the Academy Dean and tomorrow you ride out for Boston to review the camp there.”

“There, see? I'll be out of your hair for at least four days. Easiest job in the world.”

She smiled in response just as the door opened and Monroe walked in. It was a jolt of instant awareness quickly soured by the memory of his most recent lover leaving the building. She looked away before she could see the slight pause in his step or the double take he gave her. 

“Lieutenant Foster, isn't it? Miles tells me you ranked second in your class. Well done.”

She took a breath and looked up, giving him what she hoped was a professional smile. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Second ranking and you pulled her for secretary? Really?”

She could feel the displeasure rolling off her father, like a cold, icy wave. “Yeah, Bass, because I wanted someone with a brain in their head. Besides, women are better a the whole organization thing. No offense, Stu.”

“None, taken. I'm only good at it because I grew up in a house full of women. It was sink or swim. You have a meeting with your intelligence officers at eleven, Mr. President.”

Monroe made a face. “Anything pending that would get me out of that?”

“Nothing. Sorry.”

Miles pointed at Monroe, but looked at Charlie. “I also don't try to pull things like that. I'm the responsible one. Much better boss.”

And less of a strain on her nerves.

“You didn't have to take the new kid, Miles.”

“Yeah, I did. You need someone who could hit the ground running. Besides, Stu will get her up to speed by the time I get back from Boston.”

Monroe had fixed his plate and sat down. “We can both help with that.”

“She doesn't need your help.” It came out a bit too quickly, but once said, Miles pretended he hadn't said anything. He just met Monroe's eyes briefly with a quiet, unspoken warning that Charlie thought she could readily decode. _Keep your hands to yourself._ What Stuart had said about her father trying to dissuade her would-be husband from his more carnal affairs came back to mind. 

So her father might not be as much of a bastard as she had originally thought.

Still didn't mean she was ready to come clean about who she was. That would be...uncomfortable.

They finished breakfast, bites of food interspersed with discussions about training schedules, upcoming social requirements, tax rates and another round of garrison inspections. 

“I don't think it's going to be enough.” Miles was scowling at a report that had come in a few days earlier. “I'm thinking I should handle this personally.”

“Miles, you'd be away from the capitol for a year or more to deal with it personally. We just can't afford that. You need to be here if something erupts on one of the borders.”

“If even half of this shit is true, then my soldiers are out of control. I need to reinstate discipline. Best way to do that is to do it in person.” Her father looked irritated at the idea. “Hell, this kind of shit is exactly the kind of shit that would keep increasing the rebel numbers. I want soldiers. Not thugs. My men need to be better than the people they are supposed to be protecting the citizens from.”

Charlie licked her lips and braced herself before speaking. “If they're talking about over taxing, the rapes and the abduction of anyone the militia thinks is pretty, then it's true.”

The men at the table were quiet, all eyes on her. She swallowed and continued. “I'm from the outer territory. Wisconsin. I've seen it. A lot of the towns, they started hiding any girls who started puberty when the soldiers came to collect taxes, just to keep us out of eye sight. My town, we would go hunting so we were out in the woods when they came around. Otherwise, there was no telling what might happen.”

Monroe dared a tight smile. “If you weren't there, how do you know what happened?”

“Because not everyone was able to get away. We'd come back and someone was missing or my...mom, she would be putting some girl back together. She was a doctor. A real one. From England.” She shrugged. “Believe me or don't believe me. But I've lived it. It's bad out there. Gets worse the further you get away from Philly.”

Her father gave a slow nod. “Not surprising. Has happened in every society and every army since the beginning of time. There's a line between being brutal and being monstrous. I cannot have our men crossing that line. Better to take care of it now than let it go too long.”

“All right, let's agree that a deeper look needs to be taken. However, we still can't afford to spare you for that long. Instead, let's think about who we could put on the task that we can trust to do a good job. What about Jeremy. We know we can trust him to deal firmly with anything involving sexual assaults.” 

“True.” Miles pointed at her notebook to indicate she should take notes. Charlie set down her fork and took up a pencil, making neat lines of text on a fresh sheet. “But he's a little too night. If we send him out, we need someone to balance him out. A bad cop.” He speared some potatoes. “Neville. The guy is a snake, but he knows when someone is lying to him and he has experience as a number cruncher. If someone can tell if the books are being cooked, it's him. And he's a total bastard.”

“We could send Strausser.”

“We want a bastard, not a psychopath.” Miles pointed his knife at Charlie. “You, never let yourself be in a room alone with Sergeant Strausser. Decent people should keep their distance from that one. Neville is mean enough, and we can send his son out with him. That boy band face of his makes him a natural for undercover work. They can send him ahead to be the cute, doe eyed boy and let him gather any intel from the locals who might not be comfortable talking to a soldier.”

Charlie leaned over to Stuart to whisper, “What's a boy band?” Stuart shook his head slightly with a shrug. Monroe bit off a laugh. 

“One of the few good things to come out of the Blackout. No more One Direction.” He lifted a glass of milk and clinked it against Miles' glass of whiskey.

“Amen to that, brother.”


	3. Chapter 3

Charlie was running over the list she'd made on what was needing done for when Miles returned to the city later that night. The courier had already arrived to confirm he was on his way, but he likely wouldn't make it to the city until after midnight. 

Case of whiskey from his favorite distiller secured and delivered to his house, check.  
Uniforms, both battle and dress, cleaned, pressed and hung up in his closet, check.  
All boots aired out and shined, check... and her father had some damn stinky feet.  
Calendar clear for two days after his return so the General could catch up on his sleep, double check.

“You look like a woman on a mission.”

Monroe. 

She stood up straight from where she'd been leaning over her desk for the last minute run thru. “Sorry, Mr. President, I didn't hear you come in.”

He waved off the 'Mr. President'. “I didn't mean to startle you. I was just about to head out for a dinner engagement and saw the lamps were still lit.”

Of course. A 'dinner engagement'. With Danika, the harlot. She'd seen the entry in Stuart's planner when they were going over what events could be moved or thrown over to Monroe so Miles could have his down time. “Just making sure everything is in place for General Matheson's return.”

“You really have settled into the role quickly.” He took a seat on the corner of her desk, his expression warm and inviting.

_Mistresses!_

_Plural!_

_Two-timing, no-good, piece of CRAP!_

That was better.

“It wasn't that hard. People make him out to be a lot scarier than he really is.”

“No, they don't. You just haven't seen him on a bad day, yet. Don't worry. You can use me as a shield when it happens.”

_Fat chance._

“I think I can handle him. If I could put up with my kid brother first thing in the morning, the General should be easy. The secret it to avoid actually speaking to them before they've had at least half of their breakfast.” She paused for a moment. “In his case, that might be moved to waiting until he's had at least one drink.”

“Baker was right. You are too smart to waste on an enlisted position. Keep it up and you may be running this place one day.”

“Oh, no. No, no, no!” She waved that idea off. “There isn't enough gold in the world to pay me for your job.”

“It was worth a shot. Maybe I should just switch places with Miles. Make him be president for a while.”

Charlie bit back a laugh, it came out as a snort. “He'd shoot you if you tried.”

Monroe seemed to consider that for a protracted second before giving her a boyish grin. “The look on his face would almost be worth it, though.”

She rolled her eyes. “You two have definitely been around one another too long.” She closed her folder. “If that's all, Sir, I should really should be getting back to my rooms. It's late.”

A brief flash of what looked to be frustration crossed his face, but he banished it just as quickly. “Of course. And I should be meeting my companion for dinner. Just...try not to let Miles work you too hard, Char...” He skidded to a halt over her name and a brief thrill of nervousness ran through her. Had he figured her out?

Monroe banished the frown that had settled between his brows and summoned up another smile. “Good night, Foster. I suppose I'll see you on Monday.”

~***~

It was still pitch black outside when someone started banging on the door to her quarters. Charlie lifted her head off of the pillow, her brain still trying to make sense of what was happening. It took a second for her to connect the sound to someone knocking, but once she did she scrambled from under the covers and grabbed her side arm. Just in case.

“Who is it?”

“Lieutenant Foster? I'm Corporal Tyson, from the bridge patrol. Monroe sent me to find you.”

What? What did that idiot want now? She opened the door just enough to look through at the young man. His skin was ghost pale. “What's going on?”

“There was a rebel ambush, Ma'am. General Matheson has been injured. He's been take to his residence and the doctors are with him. Monroe said that you should be told immediately.”

Her heart threatened to jump from her chest. “I'm on my way.” She shut the door and scrambled into her uniform. Her boots were barely tied before she ran out, silent prayers to whomever was upstairs to watch over her father running through her thoughts.

She was allowed in with little fuss. The guards outside the house were some of the same that often pulled shifts inside Independence Hall, so they knew her. She had been to the house twice during the week to coordinate with the housekeeper, so she knew her way around fairly well. She was headed towards the stairs when Monroe's booming voice drifted out from the library.

“I don't give a fuck! I want them found and I want them found, _now_! Chase down every one of those cowards and you drag them back here in chains! I want them lined up in the city square and executed where _everyone_ can see it!”

She changed direction and went to the library. Once she cleared the door she saw the same Sergeant Strausser her father had warned her to stay clear of standing there with an unholy gleam in his eye. That look sent a chill down her spine. She'd heard of the man's reputation. If Monroe was sending him after whomever had shot Miles, they were as good as found. And he wasn't going to be pleasant about it.

She swallowed and drew a breath. “Any word from the doctors?”

Monroe whirled in place, his eyes focusing on her. His shoulders were tense. His eyes were bright with anxiety and fear. “Charlotte.” He crossed the room too fast for her to react. One moment her hands were loose at her sides, the next he had her fingers caught in his own and was holding them between them.

She ignored the slight relaxing in his stance.

She also ignored the butterflies that broke free in her stomach. 

“Charlotte.” He said her name softer this time. “I need you to provide Sergeant Strausser with the details of Miles' route back to the city. Everything you have.”

She licked her lips and nodded. “Of course.” He was still holding her hands, his thumbs idly rubbing her knuckles. “Mr. President? I need my hands back.”

He blinked and seemed surprised he was still holding them. He released her and stepped back, running a hand through his hair. “Hurry up with that, Lieutenant. With any luck we'll have some news when you return.”

She nodded and hurried back out of the room and through the hall at a quick march until she could get back outside and make the short trip from the house Miles used as his private residence and Independence Hall. It took her little time to gather and organize the reports, including a map with Miles' intended route marked out. Once she had everything she secured it in a portfolio and hurried back to the general's house.

Strausser was waiting outside with two squads of soldiers lined up before him in two rows. The grizzled soldier radiated menace on a massive scale, it poured off of him like a perpetual cold. He made her skin crawl, but she had a job to do. Her father was inside, likely fighting for his life, and the part of her that was his daughter wanted those responsible to pay. She kept her interaction with Strausser brief, answering his questions fully and giving him all the information requested. That done, she left him to his hunt while she went back into the mansion.

Monroe was still in the library, now with a man who looked to be in his late sixties. The president's shoulders were tense as she listened.

“It's too early to tell. He's lost a lot of blood. The general is a universal donor, which also means the pool of possible donors he can receive from is relatively small.”

She knew those terms. Maggie had taught her about this. “I'm O-neg.” Her voice seemed impossibly loud in the room. Both men turned towards her. “I grew up with a doctor. She got her hands on some supplies that let her test everyone in the village so she'd know if needed. She said I came back as O negative. Universal donor.”

“You're certain?” She nodded in response, understanding that the other man must be the doctor. “Good. Even one donor will be a big help.” He turned back to Monroe. “I need to take her upstairs to start the transfusion.”

“Of course.” Monroe's eyes flicked back to her. “Thank you, Charlotte.”

They took her to Miles' bed room. Her father, usually tall and imposing with his dark coloring and brooding demeanor, looked somehow diminished and pale against the sheets. He was resting on one side of the large bed. She was directed to lay down on the other side.

“It's not an ideal set up, but these days we work with what we have. Besides, I doubt the general will dislike having a pretty girl in his bed.”

It was a weak attempt at humor. “He'd regret me in the morning.” She took off the outer shirt of her uniform, leaving on the tank top she usually wore underneath before laying down atop the covers. One of the medics had arranged a few large pillows against the headboard for her to rest against and put another under her knees to keep her legs slightly bent and relaxed. She felt the cooling affect of the swab used to clean and prep the inside of her arm as she answered questions mechanically. Yes, she felt in good health. No, she wasn't pregnant and there was no chance she may be. She did not have a recent history of fainting spells. She'd eaten well that day and had plenty to drink, none of it alcoholic. There was the pinch of the needle, a gentle probing as the medic found the vein and then the needle and tubing was secured to her arm. She saw the medic using a hand pump to coax the blood from her arm and watched as the dark red liquid moved through the tubing and into Miles' body.

She wasn't sure how long they had her hooked up. She was asked questions periodically to make sure she was still coherent. After the doctor was satisfied, the pump was stopped and she was disconnected. He told her to remain where she was and relax. There was a tray with a sandwich and water set upon the bedside table next to her. 

She turned her head on the pillow and studied her father's profile. He was still pale, but she thought there was a little more pink to him. His breathing was deep and steady. There was a sheet pulled up to midway on his chest. Above that thick bandages covered half of his torso.

“They spent over an hour digging shrapnel out of his flesh.”

Charlie jerked, her attention pulled to the door where Monroe stood, his eyes on Miles. She moved to get up, but he shook his head, stepping further into the room. 

“No, stay still. You should rest. They took a bit more than a pint. Risky, but the doctor felt you're strong enough to push it. Stay down as long as you want. You've earned it.”

She wasn't going to argue. She leaned back against the pillows and watched as he walked over and took Miles' hand into his own.

“He's the only family I have left. We've known one another our whole lives. I would have been dead a couple dozen times by now if it weren't for him.” 

He looked...lost. Afraid. She felt the urge to reach out to him and fought it, balling her hand into a fist at her side. “I don't remember the doctor actually saying how he is.”

“He says he feels more positive now that he had the transfusion. Thank you for that. Now we're just waiting for him to wake back up.” He released the other man's hand and looked at her. “How are you feeling?”

“A bit sleepy.” She considered the question, taking an internal assessment. “A bit hungry, actually.” She craned her neck around and found the tray of food. Scooting the pillows around a bit, she sat up further and reached for it. Looked like ham and cheese. Simple and filling.

“Eat up. Rest as long as you need to. Actually, I'd feel better if you stayed. I need to go back to Independence Hall to see to matters there. Someone should be here when he wakes up.”

She nodded. “Yes, Sir. Should I come get you when he wakes up?”

“Just send one of the staff. Otherwise I'll just come back when I'm done.”

~***~

He hurt. Everything fucking hurt. 

At least he wasn't coming to in an empty field freezing his nuts off. In fact, he recognized the faint scent of lavender that his housekeeper had added to the laundry soap for the bed linens. She thought it would help him relax. Sometimes he could almost love the old biddy.

Miles became aware of the heat of someone else next to him. He turned his head, squinting his eyes against the headache brought on by the lamplight. Lieutenant Foster was asleep next to him, resting atop the covers and snoring so softly he almost missed it. There was a white bandage wrapped around her arm at the elbow.

“She had the same blood type. Volunteered when the doc said you needed some.”

Bass' voice was soft so as not to wake the other person in the room. Miles turned his head the other way to look at his brother, perfect hair mussed and eyes rimmed with worry. “You look like shit.”

“Look who's talking.”

“How long was I out?”

“About six hours since the doc got hold of you. Plus whatever it took for them to get you here.” Bass got up and poured him a glass of whiskey. He knew well what Miles thought of water. “How's your head?”

“Banging.” He levered himself up enough to drink the whiskey, which moved the bed enough to wake up Foster. She frowned as she made her way back up to consciousness, blinking blearily as she looked as though she was trying to remember where she was. 

“General Matheson?”

“Hey, soldier. Thanks for topping off the tank.”

Her frown deepened. “Huh?”

Miles sighed. “Sorry. Pre-blackout reference. You good?”

She appeared to take an internal assessment. “Yeah, I think so.” She noted that Monroe was back and started to get up. “I should be going.”

Miles watched her for any sign of instability. He knew that sometimes the docs could be a little aggressive when caring for him or Bass and wouldn't put it past them to take more blood than what was safe. She seemed to be okay, though. “Have one of the one thousand guards the boss here has on the house escort you back to your quarters. No, wait...have two. One guy might get ideas.”

She blushed. She had a cute blush. “I can make it on my own.”

“I've been shot. Humor the invalid.”

That got a smile, though a small one. “Yes, sir.” She nodded in farewell to Bass before heading towards the door. That, apparently, was all the incentive his old friend needed to get to his feet.

“I can walk you to the barracks, Foster.”

“Let the guard do it, Bass.”

“It's no trouble.”

“Leave it to the guard.” It came out a bit stronger than his head was wanting to allow, but he got his point across. Bass gave him a look that clearly stated he wasn't happy with him putting his foot down in front of the junior officer, but he did drop the matter. The door was shut and Foster had time to get a decent space away before he spoke.

“What was that about, Miles?”

“You know what.”

The tightening at the corners of his mouth told Miles that Bass did get it. “She's _a_ Charlotte. She's not your Charlotte.”

“She's a good kid, Bass. And a promising young officer. I don't want you screwing with her, in any way. It wouldn't be fair to her for you to lead her on in something that can't go anywhere. No more so than it is that you keep screwing around on my daughter.”

“Someone just tried to kill you, Miles. Are you seriously going to start this argument again?”

“Just...leave Foster alone, Bass. Let the kid be.”

Monroe threw up his hands. “Fine. I'll keep my hands off Foster. I think it's a mistake for you to coddle her, though. Especially if you're thinking about training her up for something bigger.”

“I'm not coddling her. I just don't want you screwing her up.” He did need to change the subject, though. “What do we know?”

“I sent Strausser to track down your attackers. I expect he'll be back with something within the week.” Bass poured them both a drink. “Take it easy on this stuff. You shouldn't be drinking at all.”

Miles took the glass with a snort. He knew he shouldn't be drinking whiskey right now, but water made him sick.


	4. Chapter 4

“Did you go over that letter to Blanchard?”

Charlie grimaced. “I did.”

She guessed Miles picked up on her hesitation. “What?”

“Uhm...did you want to start a war?”

“It wasn't that bad.”

“It's...pretty bad. No offense, but you've been at this for a while now. I just would have thought you'd be...better at it. By now, I mean.”

He arched a dark brow at her, to which she failed to cower. Finally he rolled his eyes. “Fine, see what you can do with it.”

“I already did.” She offered the new letter, carefully typed on the ancient manual typewriter provided to her for such purposes. “Now instead of insinuating you'll shove a sabre up his ass, you're inviting him to open a dialogue regarding the reported skirmishes along the border.”

“'Open a dialogue'? I wasn't aware the academy had added classes on political pseudo-speak.” He took the letter anyway, reading over it. “This is good.” He looked it over again before grimacing. “It's really good.” He took a pen from her desk and signed the letter before handing it back to her. “Send it out.”

“Yes, sir.” She tried not to look too smug. She must have failed at least a bit, because Miles gave her a gentle smack against the back of her head in mild rebuke as he walked past her. She smiled to herself, but cast a concerned glance after her father. He pretended that everything was fine, but she was still of the opinion that he'd returned to the office too soon. He said it was necessary, that the men needed to know their general was ready and able to lead them. She was of the opinion that he should still be in bed, or at least taking it easy at his home.

They had compromised with short days.

“I'll put these in the afternoon post. Kirkland's sent word that your wine is in. I was going to head over and take it to the house.”

That brightened him up a bit. “Finally, some good news. Pick out something for yourself while you're there. Tell them to put it on my account.”

“Sure thing, boss. Don't stay too late.”

“Who are you, my mother?” He wadded up a sheet of paper and threw it at her. Charlie batted it away with a grin before heading out.

Philly wasn't a bad city to live in if she were to be honest. She missed the more rural landscapes in which she grew up, but she enjoyed the access to the tradesmen and shops. Need to fix the hole in your boots? There was a cobbler. Need a new hunting knife? There was the blacksmith that catered to the Militia and two private blacksmiths that were available to everyone else. Need new jeans? There was a tailor and clothier. She could see that city living could potentially lead to someone getting spoiled.

Kirkland's wasn't a pub or bar but rather a high end shop for liquor and spirits. They could get things no one else could and the Militia didn't ask his sources. For that, Miles got a regular supply of some fine wines that he enjoyed when he wanted something “softer” than whiskey. Tim Kirkland, the owner of the store, smiled brightly as she stepped up to his counter.

“Lieutenant, I have the general's order ready to go.” He pulled a wooden half crate containing six green glass bottles with wax sealed corks. “I'll send the invoice to the house as usual.”

Charlie grabbed the crate and pulled it forward. “Thank you.”

“Are you sure there's nothing I can get for you? I have some lovely wines that are perfect for helping overworked lieutenants relax after a long day of putting up with fussy generals.”

That made her laugh. “No thanks. I'm more of a book and warm milk kind of girl.”

“Can't blame me for trying.” He got the door for her, waving good-bye as she headed down the sidewalk. The crisp, cool air pulled at the short strands that had worked their way free from her braid as she made her way towards Miles' house. She was crossing the parade ground where a couple of platoons were doing drills when it happened. She only knew that thunder surrounded her, sending her and the box of wine bottles flying.

~***~

The explosion at the parade grounds had been powerful enough to be felt even at Independence Hall. It had taken no time for the security details to scramble along with the medics and recovery units. Miles was shouting orders and ignoring any residual weakness from his injuries, looking like a man out for blood.

It didn't help that the early reports had included Foster's name with those recovered from the bomb site so far. The lieutenant had been running a simple errand and would not have been in the blast zone otherwise. Miles wasn't stupid, he knew that soldiers got hurt, but Bass also knew that the kid had managed to find a special place in his brother's affections without meaning to. As tough as Miles pretended to be, he did still have a heart underneath that uniform.

They had been on high alert for hours now with no update from the medics regarding Foster's status. Bass tried not to admit to himself that he was agitated regarding that point himself.

A knock on the door earned a sharp “Enter!” from him. The soldier who responded was one from Baker's hand picked group. “Report?”

“President Monroe, forgive the intrusion, sir, but Colonel Resnick requests your presence at the hospital. He said it's important.”

~***~

Miles' head was pounding. He felt weary and wanted to get home and crawl into his bed. They had found the person responsible for planting the bomb and he was now in the hands of the head of Security and Interrogations. If he was working with anyone else, they'd know by morning. However, Bass had sent word that he was needed at the hospital, and that it was urgent.

He hoped that Foster wasn't dying. The kid had so much potential. She could be an outstanding leader one day, if that idiot rebel hadn't managed to kill her.

The soldiers in the hallway of the hospitals did their best to get out of his way while at the same time helping to get wounded soldiers from one point to the next. The person manning the front desk was able to direct him to where Bass had parked himself. He found his friend seated beside Foster's bed, his head cradled in both of his hands.

She looked impossibly small where she lay. Her complexion looked even paler than the white sheets covering her. She hadn't woken up and the right side of her neck and what he could see of her shoulder was covered in bandages.

Miles swallowed. “What did the doc say?” Bass' head shot up and Miles saw that his eyes were swollen and bloodshot from crying. Crying? Bass was very careful to try and keep his tears under control except when it was just to the two of them. “Bass?”

His friend swallowed. “It's her, Miles.” His voice was hoarse.

“What are you talking about?”

Bass got to his feet, his frame shaking as he walked towards the foot of the bed. Miles watched as he carefully folded back the foot of the sheets, revealing Foster's feet. They had removed her uniform to treat her and the bare soles of her feet were now visible. There, on the pale skin of the right foot, was his best friend's name in elegant, black script.

Charlotte. _His_ Charlotte.

Miles' knees threatened to give out from under him. Bass moved quickly enough to catch him. Both men stared at the unmoving young woman on the bed, their hearts hammering in concern. 

“Resnick sent a runner for me once he had her out of surgery. His team knows to keep their mouths shut until we're ready for it to get out.”

“How is she?”

“Still unconscious, but stable. He thinks her chances are good. She got thrown pretty hard, but she's young and she's healthy. He wants her to stay here until she comes around and he's satisfied that she's safe to move.”

Miles ran a thumb over Bass' name against his daughter's skin, looking up at her face to search for any reaction and finding none. His hands trembled as he pulled the covers back down over her feet and smoothed the fabric over her legs. “Why didn't she say anything? I know Stuart briefed her. She knew we've been looking for her.”

“I don't know. I've been asking myself the same thing.” Bass ran a hand through his already tousled curls. “She got conscripted. Maybe it scared her?”

“She's had plenty of time to adjust.” Miles claimed the chair Bass had been using. “You're going to have to get rid of her.”

“What?” The expression on Bass' face was almost anger.

“Danika. She's gone, Bass.”

He blinked, understanding. “Right. Of course. It's not a question.”

Miles picked up Charlie's hand, cradling it in both of his and pressing it to his lips. Her skin was slightly warm to the touch. He sought out her pulse and it seemed to be steady and strong. “I'll stay with her. Have them bring in a cot or something.” He blinked back tears stinging his eyes. “At least this way the doc can make sure I'm following his orders, right? We can move her to my house once he gives us the all clear.”

“There's plenty of room at Independence Hall.”

“Bass, she's been right there in our city for almost two years and never came forward. If she was ready to be with you, don't you think she would have said something?” He let that sit in before shaking his head. “Let's take this a step at a time. We can't leave her in the barracks. I don't care what Resnick told his people, soldiers gossip worse than house wives. By tomorrow morning everyone will know my daughter's been found. My house is as secure as yours.” 

He could hear Monroe's teeth grinding, but he knew he was right. “Okay, I see your point. I'll have Jeremy oversee moving her things. He's probably one of the few people we know she'd be okay with going through it all.”

Miles nodded, not yet ready to let go of his daughter's hand. He knew Bass was still in the room, but he couldn't tear his eyes from her face. Now that he knew her, he could see the signs of Rachel in her. How had he missed it?

“She'll be fine, Miles.” Something in Bass' voice made him look up. His brother was rubbing his arm where Charlie's name was hidden by his uniform. He had spoken to him, but he too was looking at the sleeping woman. “She'll wake up.”

“Yeah. Of course she will.”

~***~

She was supposed to be doing something. She definitely had an agenda. But she was a combination of tired and achy to the point that she was having trouble remembering what that very important thing she was supposed to be doing had been.

Her father's wine. The very special, hard to come by ice wine that could only be made under certain conditions that didn't always happen in this area of the continent, so it had to be imported down from what had once been known as Canada. She was supposed to be getting the wine to his house when something had happened.

Did she drop the wine?

She tried to open her eyes but it wasn't as easy as it should have been. She thought she remembered thunder, but the sky had been blue and clear. Not a sign of incoming rain. 

She was looking at a white wall that was entirely unfamiliar to her. And she was fairly certain she was lying down. 

And someone was snoring loudly enough to make a passable impersonation of a bear somewhere on the other side of her.

Charlie turned her head, wincing at the stiffness in her spine and an annoying pulling, itching sensation on the right side of her neck, until she could see the rest of the white, sterile room. There was a fabric screen likely marking off a private area for personal business, but it was the tall, lean form of her father slouched down in a chair by the side of the bed that caught her attention. His mouth was open and his neck was cricked in such a way that it would likely be as stiff as her own once he woke up.

Why was Miles sleeping in a chair and why was she in a bed in what was obviously a hospital room?

Crap.

She managed to wake up her hand enough that she could lift the covers over her enough to see she'd been changed from her uniform to a plain hospital gown. There was no way she still had her secret.

Charlie let her head fall back down the few inches she had managed to lift it with a groan. “Fuuuuck.”

Miles roused with a snort, his hand going for his side arm out of reflex. She would have laughed if she wasn't so sore and pissed.

“I'm busted, aren't I.”

He looked at her, blinked, then gave an amused snort. His mouth twisted in a lopsided smile. “Oh yeah, you're are so busted.” He straightened up a bit more, scooting the chair closer to her side. “Thirsty?”

She considered the question. “Very.”

“Right.” Her father's hands came up to help her sit up, grabbing a couple of extra pillows from next to the bed to help prop her into a semi-seated position before he poured some water from the nearby pitcher. “Take it easy. You've been out for a day and a half.”

She took the glass and was proud of herself for holding it steady. Miles still kept his hands ready to catch it if need be. She managed to get a few good sips down before handing it back. “What happened?”

“Bombing. We caught the guy. He was supposed to be the back up if the ambush failed to take me out, but he couldn't get close enough to plant the bomb at either my house or Independence Hall, so he decided to go for the troops running drills at the parade grounds. You just happened to be walking by at the time. You weren't specifically targeted.”

She only caught the first half of that. “They're still trying to kill you? There are guards outside, right? Tell me there are guards outside.” She wasn't aware she was sitting up further. Miles put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her back down. “Miles, you have guards, right?”

He rolled his eyes. “You nearly get blown to kingdom come and you're going on about me having guards. Should I be touched or should I strangle you? I'm not sure.” He straightened her covers. “How about we talk about how my daughter has been living in my city for almost two years and didn't think to tell me about it?”

She groaned and tried to sink back into the pillows. “Do we have to?”

“Well, I know someone else who is very interested in knowing the answer to it. In fact, if you'd woken up about an hour ago you would have seen him pacing a hole in the floor. Is there a reason you've been hiding from the man you're sort of supposed to be with?”

She clenched her jaw and turned her face to the wall, the feelings of hurt and humiliation flooding back into her. She was aware she was being childish, but she wasn't about to cry over Monroe in front of Miles.

Her father sighed. “Look, it's not like you can run anywhere. You're in no shape to do so anyway. So, out with it. Why all the hiding?”

He had a point. “It wasn't the plan. That's not what I intended when I came to Philadelphia.” She sighed and told him. She told him how she'd traveled all the way from Wisconsin on her own to be with her soul mate, only to run face first into his 'entertainments'. “And you weren't exactly telling him to ditch the tramp, though I understand you're not exactly on board with them either.”

Miles told himself not to smile. He ruffled his hair as he thought of the proper response. “How did you figure that out?”

“Stuart clued me in. He said you get bitchy whenever Sebastian gets a new playmate. But that he keeps doing it because 'men have needs' and all that bullshit.”

“Yeah, I stopped being okay with that about the time you would have been turning seventeen. Okay, probably more like around fifteen or sixteen, but I wouldn't have been okay with you two...doing anything when you were that young.” Miles handed her glass back to her. “So that's why? You saw Bass with...I'm not sure who he was with back then.”

“Some red head. I left the city afterwards and got picked up by a conscription team. Kept my head down as rank and file until Baker conned me in to taking the exam and trying for a commission. And thanks to that, I've seen just how fickle my would-be hubby can be.”

Miles winced as she took the glass. “It's not like that, Charlie.”

“Isn't it? Everyone in the city knows when he has a new girl, and there have been at least six since I joined the academy. Does he have a revolving door on his bedroom or something?” She got the impression Miles was trying not to smile. “It's not funny.”

“No, you're right. I just can't help but be a bit smug about how right _I_ was when I kept telling him to keep his pants on. And you should be upset with him. It's just...why just walk away?”

“I wasn't going to walk up to him and say 'Hi, I'm your soul mate, Charlie' when he had that girl in his lap!”

“Well, no. But maybe a better course of action would have been to talk up, yank her off his lap by her hair and kick him in the balls. Hell, if you'd told me who you were, I would have held him until you tired out.” She gave him a flat look. “No, seriously. I would have held him for you.”

“Miles, you're not as funny as you think you are.”

He gave her a slight smile. “I'm not trying to be funny, Peanut. I'm just... I wish you'd come to me before this.” He reached out and smoothed her hair from her face. “You have no idea how worried I've been, wondering where you are and if you were safe. And you've been in my militia all this time, right under my nose.” His large, calloused hand cradled her left cheek, purposefully avoiding the more heavily bruised and sore right side. “It's been hell, Charlie. Not knowing has been hell.”

Her eyes stung and she told herself it was because she was tired and sore from the force of the bombing, not because she felt like crying. “Sorry to make you worry, Miles. I just wasn't ready to face... well I guess I was more worried about having to talk to him.” 

“I know, kid. I don't blame you. Like I said, you have every right to be upset with the jackass. And I'll back you, as long as you need me to. I'm not going to let him push you into anything you're not ready for.”


End file.
